


A Soft Spoken Melody

by NotSteve



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Braime - Freeform, Fix It Fic, Future Fic, Gen, Implied Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, OC, Post-Canon, idk I hate tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-03-17 00:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18954382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSteve/pseuds/NotSteve
Summary: After Lord Selwyn's passing, Brienne's brother, the new Evenstar, journeys to the mainland in search of a bride. An unexpected encounter with some bandits brings him north of the wall where he meets a familiar face.





	1. Thirteen Years Later

Lord Emrys stood facing the ocean with his golden curls blowing in the gentle wind. The sun shone brightly above him, making him look more like a God than a boy. A small bear cub rested in his arms. Topaz—the name Emrys chose to call the soon-to-be wild beast—had been given to him as a gift by some high lord or lady upon his succession as the Evenstar. His golden beauty always brought him precious and unique possessions: On his fifth nameday—the year King Bran had declared him a trueborn son of Lord Selwyn Tarth—he was given a beautiful Valyrian sword. He gave it the name Sapphireknight after his beloved sister, who was a knight of the seven kingdoms. Lord Selwyn soon after leant it to his cousin, Lord Gerallt, after he decided to join the Queensguard up north. Emrys was treated more like a prince than the crown prince of the north, who was more commonly known as the dog of the north.

The cub let out a soft squeak as Lord Emrys patted his head, and Ser Brienne approached them. Lord Emrys greeted her with a warm smile.

Her lip twitched upwards as Emrys waved at her with the bear’s paw. “I thought the bear was staying on Tarth,” she said.

“I could never leave Topaz behind,” said Emrys. “Maester Wilmont would have released him into the wild the moment I boarded my ship!”

He gestured to the ship behind him. Another extravagant gift built in his name last year on his eleventh nameday.

“Perhaps that wouldn’t have been such a terrible thing to do,” said Lord Tyrion’s voice.

Brienne turned to see Ser Podrick, Lord Tyrion and the king before her. She bowed gracefully. “Your Grace.”

The king acknowledged her with a nod, then turned to the bear and Evenstar. Lord Emrys stood awkwardly for a moment before Brienne nudged him. “Oh—Your Grace,” he said quickly, curtseying.

Lord Tyrion lifted an eyebrow as an amused expression formed on his face.

Emrys, realization suddenly hitting him, quickly frowned. “Pardon me, Your Grace,” he said. “Never did quite master the bow.”

“It’s quite all right,” said Bran.

“How long do you plan on staying with us here in King’s Landing, young Evenstar?” asked Tyrion.

“Just the night,” said Lord Emrys. “Topaz and I will be headed north in the morning to find my bride.”

“The north?” asked Tyrion.

“ _A bride_?” said Brienne. “Emrys, you are only twelve years old. You are too young to be looking for a bride.”

“While Ser Brienne is right,” said Tyrion, “I can understand your urgency to—”

“You don’t wish to rule Tarth alone,” said Bran. It was a statement, not a question.

Lord Emrys’s eyes found Brienne. “No.”

Tyrion coughed to get Emrys’s attention on him again. “Why a woman from the north, Lord Emrys? I’m sure there are at least a few ladies on Tarth suitable to be your bride.”

“But none of them are suitable to rule beside you,” said Bran.

Again, Emrys turned to Brienne. “No.”

Bran looked from Brienne to Emrys. “I hope you find who you are looking for.” He motioned for Ser Podrick to escort him away.

When the king was gone, Brienne turned her attention back on Emrys. He set Topaz down and embraced her. Brienne’s hands found his face and she placed a gentle loving kiss on his lips. The bear below them let out a soft roar as he made his way over to Lord Tyrion and began nibbling on his cloak.

“A bear is no pet,” Brienne told Emrys firmly as he lifted Topaz back up into his arms.

“I have to agree with your sister on this one,” said Tyrion, examining the freshly made teeth marks on his cloak. “If I recall correctly, bears and your family do not seem to—" He stopped suddenly, clearing his throat.

“What?” asked Emrys.

“Oh—well,” said Tyrion. He turned to Brienne for guidance. “I just mean bears are… They don’t make very good pets, especially with your family history.”

Lord Emrys focused on Brienne too, which made her face burn a fierce shade of red.

“Oh, er—I give my deepest sympathies to you, young Evenstar, on the passing of your… Lord Selwyn,” Tyrion continued, putting the attention back on himself. “I only met him a few times, but our short time together told me he was an honorable and just man.”

“Thank you,” said Emrys. “He only mentioned you to me once—he told me how you drank all of his wine during a short visit to Tarth some years ago.”

Tyrion only nodded. “Yes, that does sound like me.” A congress of ravens flew above them then, and they all paused to look up at the curious creatures. After the ravens had disappeared into the clouds above, Tyrion looked to them both and smiled. “I best get back. Good to see you again, Lord Emrys.” He hesitated for a moment, as if expecting Emrys to run up and hug him, then ascended the steps.

 

“Are you well, sister?” asked Emrys on their way up to the castle.

“Quite,” she said formally. “Ser Podrick is surely looking forward to having a proper greeting with you. When I told him you were coming, he could hardly contain his excitement.”

“Yes, perhaps later today we can engage in some friendly combat.” He gestured towards the two small swords strapped to his back. Another gift, no doubt.

“Since when have you been using two swords?”

“Ser Yorath suggested I train with two swords when Catrin Storm nearly took my right hand off some months ago,” he said. “I’m getting quite good, actually. People are starting to refer to me as Lady Twoswords.”

_“Lady?”_

“Oh, yes, well… because of a whole mishap. I arrived on the training ground wearing Catrin’s clothing—and she in mine.”

“Why were you wearing each other’s clothes?”

He stopped, thinking of his answer carefully. “You know, I can no longer recall. There must have been a mix-up in the laundry that day.”

He laughed and they continued walking.

In truth, Emrys wore Catrin’s clothes—and she in his—that day because he wanted to know what it felt like to wear a dress. He was mocked by most of the children. Ser Yorath even sent him home to change into proper clothing. But Lord Selwyn only laughed upon seeing Emrys in the dress and allowed him to keep it in his wardrobe. He passed shortly after that, and Emrys had succeeded him as Evenstar, so no one dared question his choice in clothing anymore. Even now, though in mourning, he dressed more fanciful than most boys his age. He preferred silk over leather and always dreaded the days when he had to wear armor.  

“Did you receive my letter?” he asked. “I’ve been expecting your reply.”

“I did,” she said, frowning. “We’ve been over this, Emrys. I have a duty here in King’s Landing. I’m Lord Commander. I cannot come and go as I please.”

“But Tarth needs you now more than ever,” he said. Topaz seemed to agree with his words, for he let out a soft grunt in Brienne’s direction. “I’m no Evenstar, Brienne.”

She grabbed his face gently. “You are an honorable lord, Emrys. I know you can do this. You will do fine with the right people at your side.”

He grabbed her wrist and stroked it softly with his thumb. “With _you_ at my side,” he corrected. “With you—and only you—I can accomplish anything.” She let go of him and turned away. “Come back with me—we’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll forget about the north. Forget about the bride. I only want you.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

He forced her to look at him again, his green to her blue, and pulled out a scroll from his coat pocket. She had tears in her eyes, though she forced herself not to let them drop. “Here,” he said. He practically had to force it into her hands. “He told me to give this to you before he—he wanted to speak with you in person, but you failed to answer his ravens.”

She examined it, running a gentle finger over Tarth’s sigil. “Did you read it?”

“He told me not to,” he said. “I expect he’s requesting for his true heir to come home and rule.”

“You are his true heir, Emrys.”

“No, I’m just a bastard.”

* * *

 

“A bride,” said Tyrion with a gentle, drunken laugh. He took a thoughtful sip of his wine and looked out his window. Tarth men were carrying crates off Lord Emrys’s ship; he had come with the shipment of goods Tarth had to offer to the mainland. “He looks like a bride himself; don’t you think? Sorry—no, I shouldn’t say that.” He turned to the object beside him, the only object he seemed to cherish these days: his brother’s golden hand. “He’s a good boy… good good boy.” He sipped his wine again. “You would have loved him.”

Ser Podrick cleared his throat to make his presence known, and Tyrion turned to the doorway where he stood. He had Lord Emrys’s bear in his arms.

“Parden me, Pod, I was just conversing—won’t you join me,” he said. “Drinking alone can get so tiresome sometimes.”

“Not tonight, sorry,” Pod said. He stepped aside to reveal the young Evenstar standing behind him.

Tyrion stood, the sudden movement shaking the table. His wine nearly spilled. “Lord Emrys,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” said Emrys. “Should I come back later? When you’ve finished talking with that… hand?”

“No, no,” he said. He draped an old cloth over the hand before wobbling his way over towards the young lord. “What can I do for you?”

“I forgot to give this to you this morning,” he said, handing Tyrion a small brown sack.

Tyrion examined the possessions inside: a few gold coins and a small sapphire jewel. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“Lord Selwyn wanted to deliver this to you personally, to thank you for all that you’ve done for our family,” said Emrys. “You once told him a Lannister always pays his debts. He wanted to prove to you that so can a Tarth.”

Tyrion closed the sack. “I… cannot accept. This is too much.”

“The Evenstar insisted you take it,” he said. “ _I_ insist you take it.”

Tyrion sighed. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, removing the treasures from the sack. “I will hang onto this while you’re in the north searching for your bride. When you return, I’ll give it back to you as an early wedding present.”

“You’ll hang onto it forever,” said Emrys. “It’s yours.”

There was a knock and they both turned to see Ser Brienne standing patiently beside Podrick. “Pardon me for interrupting but Ser Bronn wishes to speak with you, Lord Tyrion.”

Tyrion placed the treasures in his pocket and handed Emrys the empty sack. “Enjoy the north,” he said simply and left.

 

Ser Bronn only wished to have a drinking buddy. When he arrived back at his quarters some hours later with a belly full of wine, darkness had consumed the sky. He burped loudly and laughed aloud as he spilled Lord Emrys’s possessions onto the table. He removed the cloth from his chair, expecting to find the golden hand hidden behind it. He laughed, too drunk to care, when he saw that it was missing. “Good night, dear brother,” he said, “wherever you are.”

* * *

 

Brienne observed the letter carefully in the candlelight. It was written in her father’s hand—it was probably the last letter he ever wrote. He had fallen ill some months prior. Maester Wilmont sent a raven soon after, suggesting she come home and say goodbye. Duty kept her in King’s Landing. At the time, she was grateful for the distraction—she could never bear to see her father in such a state—but soon she began to regret not leaving.

Emrys stirred in his sleep and she turned to check on him. His bear slept soundly below him. She had hoped it would have been released into the wild by now. Honestly, who gives a bear to a twelve-year-old? He had come to her room late into the night, wanting to talk with her. She was afraid he would try to convince her again to return to Tarth, but he had only wanted to be with her; he did not mention Tarth or her father at all.

It was Emrys who sent her the news of his passing. He wrote a seventy-two-page letter—one page for ever year he lived. A few pages consisted of drawings Emrys had drawn for him while he was alive. At least five pages were poems honoring Lord Selwyn, four poems honoring Brienne, and at the very end, Emrys had written her a long letter, pleading for her to come home to him. She wept like a small child reading it. Now she held her father’s letter firmly in her hands. Unlike Emrys’s, his letters were always quick and straight to the point:

 

_Be true. Tell Emrys he belongs to you._


	2. A Bear's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Brienne discuss important matters. Emrys and Bronn journey north to find a bride.

Emrys, Tarth’s Evenstar at twelve, looked more like a lion than a Tarth. It was a miracle that no one whispered about his true parentage; the Tarth family were as ugly as they were loyal, but no one questioned when Lord Selwyn arrived back on Tarth some years ago with a golden haired, green-eyed lion and claimed him as his own, mostly to protect his daughter’s honor. In truth, Emrys looked more like Cersei than Jaime, except for his eyes which always sparkled with kindness, and possibly a hint of love, whenever he looked Tyrion’s way. It was even rumored the young Evenstar enjoyed wearing women’s clothing. Lord Tywin would be ashamed to call him a golden lion, despite his Lannister beauty, if he were alive and knew his dear grandson prodded around in silk dresses on his free time. If he were like Jaime, perhaps Tywin would have him legitimized and made him heir to Casterly Rock, if he were alive to do so. Or perhaps he’d be too ashamed that Jaime mated with such a beastly woman and would claim no ownership of the bastard until he proved himself worthy. Yes, that sounded a lot more like what his father would do, Tyrion decided. The boy had two swords strapped to his back, but Tyrion was told he rarely used them. Lord Selwyn insisted he learn how to fight, but the boy had little interest in fighting.

He was no more interested in books. Tyrion would always send a book to his secret nephew on each of his name days. It always took Emrys a while to read them, but within a few months Tyrion would receive a detailed letter thanking him for the gift and they would write back and forth for a while until another book was sent. It became one of Tyrion’s few joys in life. He would sit down with a glass of wine and read the letters aloud to his brother, Jaime, and then discuss how he should respond.

Emrys had left for the north a few days ago with Ser Bronn of Blackwater at his side, to the young boy’s disappointment. “I don’t need a babysitter,” Emrys told Brienne. He failed to bring any Tarth men of importance with him, so Tyrion took action and asked Bronn to go with him. It took a lot of wine and a whole lot more of his Lannister gold, but he finally agreed. Jaime’s golden hand, his Valyrian sword and his bastard son was all Tyrion had left of his brother, and he had misplaced the hand. He’ll be damned if he misplaces Emrys.

“You cannot be voyaging up north with only a bear cub as your protection,” Brienne said.

“I’ve got my two swords and my heart, sister,” replied back Emrys confidently. “That’s all a man should need.”

But Emrys was not yet a man. Brienne seemed distressed after saying her farewells to him and didn’t seem to be getting better.

Tyrion found her in the Red Keep reading over the white book. She did this from time to time, lingering on Jaime’s page whenever she felt lonesome. Tyrion talked to his hand; Brienne would read his page.

“Are you well, Ser Brienne?” he said.

She looked up from the book and stood abruptly. “My—lord,” she stuttered out. “Does... does His Grace need me?”

“No, no,” said Tyrion. “I apologize for startling you.” He looked to the book before her. “In happier times, I would be known as your brother… not Emrys.”

She frowned. Realizing he may have struck a nerve, he added quickly, “I meant no offense, my lady. He chose—"

“We all know who he chose,” said Brienne simply, closing the book.

“Loyalty over love,” said Tyrion.

She contemplated his words for a moment before turning away. “Emrys came here to ask me to leave my loyalties and come home to Tarth with him. Of course, I would never... The king needs me. I’m the—"

“I think you should do it.”

She looked at him, startled. “What?”

“That boy needs you far more than Bran does,” he continued. “You’ve been serving others all your life. Renly. Catelyn. Sansa. And now Bran. What does Lady Brienne wish to do? Does she want to stay here in King’s Landing or go back to Tarth her your son?” It was the first time since Emrys’s birth that Tyrion referred to him as Brienne’s son out loud.

Her face went red. “I also received a message from my father—he wrote it before he passed. He wants me to tell Emrys the truth.”

“And again, I ask, what does Lady Brienne of Tarth wish to do?”

“I... I don’t know,” she said. There was a look of shame on her face as she turned her attention back on the book. “He deserves to know the truth, but—if people find out he’s...”

“...the Kingslayer’s bastard, his reputation will be tarnished. I know,” he said. “And what of Tarth? If the truth ever came out, they would lose their beloved boy Evenstar.”

He secretly hoped Brienne would tell the boy the truth. Emrys was the only family he had left, and he wanted to love him openly, like with Jaime’s other children. “It is indeed a tough decision, Brienne,” he continued, “but whatever you decide, I want you to know that I will back you up fully and continue to support him in any way I can.”

“I thank you, my lord.”

He offered her a sweet smile. “He’ll be back in your arms before you know it, Brienne. Ser Bronn... well, from my experience, he knows how to keep people alive.” He turned to leave but stopped suddenly at the door. “One more thing, Ser,” he said, turning to face her again. “I seemed to have misplaced my—well, _his_ … and I was wondering if you… Never mind. I’m sure it will turn up eventually.”

* * *

 

“All right, all right! Enough of this,” said Bronn as he shoved a few drunken men, who were gawking over the bear cub in Emrys’s arms, and quickly led the boy and the bear to an empty table in the back. Emrys kept a tight grip on both Topaz and the brown money sack he had tied to his waist. “I told you that damn bear would fuck us.”

“It’s like they’ve never seen a bear before.”

“They’ve seen bears, all right,” he said. “Tasted them too.” He licked his lips and gave a longing glance at the bear. Though he was only joking; he never liked the taste of bear. He preferred eating horse meat.

Emrys covered Topaz’s ears as if Bronn’s words had wounded the poor bear. Both bear and boy looked beat from the harsh north. Emrys’s face looked tired and bags drooped below his eyes. His hair had even changed from a golden blond to greasy sandy brown and his curls quickly morphed into nasty knots. He hadn’t washed since his departure—on Tarth, Emrys was telling him, he washed in the ocean nearly every day. But he still looked more beauty than beast, more Lannister than Tarth. The boy had also neglected to bring any furs with him for their journey—no one had warned him about harsh summer snowstorms in the north. He was forced to buy some off a merchant. Bronn wondered how Tarth’s finances were being handled upon Emrys’s succession, for the boy paid two gold coins for one tacky and warn down fur cape that was worth a few silver coins at best.

Topaz, his bear, seemed to have gotten used to domestic life on Tarth. He whined whenever he was removed from Emrys’s arms. Bronn was planning on releasing the bear into the wild within the first night of their journey, but he quickly realized the poor cub would be dead the second they turned their backs on it. He wondered about the bear’s mother and what had happened to it. A man probably killed it, ate the meat, took her fur, without realizing she had a child, then shipped the cub off to some foolish boy on an island. Or perhaps the mother abandoned the cub after the father ran off to die with his sister.

Emrys cautiously looked over his shoulder—a woman had screamed as a man pulled down her top, exposing her small breasts. She seemed pleased with the man’s handywork, however, and allowed his thumb to caress her nipple. Soon someone had slapped his hand away and the woman covered herself back up. Emrys looked away, his face turning a deep shade of red; embarrassed or aroused, Bronn was none too sure. “This place is a whore house,” he said. “Can’t we go… someplace quieter?”

The man who had fondled the woman, and a few of his drunken friends, sat down beside them before Bronn could respond. Emrys shifted in his seat so he and Topaz were facing away from them. They had ordered wine for the table, wanting to see the bear get drunk. Emrys ordered water for both him and Topaz; Bronn, knowing not to order water in a place like this, ordered cider for the boy and ale for himself.

* * *

 

“So why a bride up north?” asked Bronn.

Emrys sipped his cider, his face squinting at the taste. “I’ve come to claim my dream woman, Bronn. The only woman I’ll ever accept as my bride. A beauty like her mother: auburn hair, grey eyes, fair skin. There are songs about her—I’ve written some of them myself. Beauty of the north, they call her.”

Bronn laughed, knowing exactly who the beauty of the north was. Tarth’s true beauty and the north’s true beauty coming together, summer and winter joining houses. “Are you really going all the way up north just to ask for the queen’s daughter’s hand in marriage?”

“Do you think I’ve got a shot?”

He downed his ale and ordered another. “Fuck no.”

“I saw her once before, actually,” he continued, unbothered by Bronn’s answer. “A few years ago, when the queen came to King’s Landing. Her sister and daughters came with her. It was for the king’s name day.”

“Aye, I remember.”

“Brienne let me stay up late that night. Tyrion even gave me some of his wine.” He smiled down at his cup as a slight blush crept onto his face. “I got to dance with her… and then afterwards, in the garden, we kissed.”

Bronn smiled. “You kissed her?”

“Well, _she_ kissed _me_ ,” he said, looking up. “On my cheek.” He caressed his left cheek thoughtfully. “We’ve written to each other a few times since—”

“I wonder how Sandor Clegane will react to your proposal,” Bronn said. “He’ll probably think to feed you to his little dogs.”

“ _The hound?_ ” said the man beside him, the same man who liked to expose women’s breasts. He roared with laughter. “I fought with that dog in Blackwater.” He downed his wine and poured more into his cup. “Man’s a coward. Afraid of fire, of all things. How he ended up fucking a queen, I’ll never know.”

“Sandor Clegane? I heard he died in King’s Landing,” said the man’s friend. He was younger than the other men in his group; he had strawberry blond hair but a full red beard. “You know, with his brother, that dead knight or whatever.”

“Hell, if I know,” said another of his friends. This man only had one eye—the other was closed shut with a nasty scar over it. “I was way in the north when that shit went down. Fled with the wildlings. Fucked a few of their women, even—probably made them some little ugly bastards.”

“Fuck the north,” said the man with the red beard. “And fuck you too for ever going beyond the wall.”

The man with the one eye cackled at his friend. “You just need to get properly fucked, Wren,” he said. “Come with us this time ‘round. Southern women just don’t have that charm a northern whore does.”

“And get _fucked_ by some Others,” he said, “or worse, Jon Snow. I think not.”

“The undead were defeated years ago,” stated Emrys simply. Though, when the men all looked at him with their fowl faces, he regretted interfering. “Arya Stark killed the Night King herself, even…”

The man known as Wren looked to Topaz and then at Emrys. “Shove off, bear boy,” he muttered.

“That’s what we all thought. We all thought it was done,” said the man with one eye. “I had a friend up north. Did nothing but fuck and drink and piss… One day he left to go hunting. Didn’t come back the next day, or the next, or the day after that. When he finally came back, weeks later, I knew what he was… He tried to kill me, he did. We nearly burnt the place down trying to get him.”

“ _Fuck the dead_ ,” said Wren, shivering.

His friends all raised their glasses. “Fuck the dead,” they all declared together.

Emrys rolled his eyes and turned to Bronn, who simply laughed. The one-eyed man noticed their reactions but bit his tongue. It seemed Emrys, as stubborn as he was, wanted to correct the men on their history: ‘The Others were defeated in Winterfell. People like my sister fought bravely in the battle. They are gone for good thanks to them,’ Bronn knew that was what he wanted to tell them. Thankfully, he had some sense not to. Instead, he simply downed his cider (with great effort) and pushed it aside.

“What’s the bear story?” Emrys asked suddenly.

Bronn looked to the cub sitting beside Emrys. “The bear’s story... I don’t fucking know.”

“No, the bear story,” he said. “Yesterday Tyrion mentioned how my family doesn’t get along with bears, then Brienne’s face went a bright shade of red. What was that all about?”

“Oh,” said Bronn, understanding, “the bear story.”

“So, you know it?”

“No.”

“You do!”

“No… not really,” he said. “I mean… I’ve heard—I’m not the one you should be talking to about this.”  Bronn almost felt bad for the poor bastard. Been lied to his whole life, believing his mother to be his sister and his grandfather to be his father. “Look, there… there are things you don’t know.”

“Yeah, I do know,” Emrys fired back.

Bronn couldn’t hide his amusement. “No, I don’t think you—"

“Bronn,” he said seriously, “ _I know_.”

Bronn sat straight and studied his face carefully. “Wha—what do you think you think you know?” he asked.

“What’s the bear story? _”_ he asked again. “Did Brienne of Tarth wrestle some bear in her youth or something?

One of the men cackled at his words. It was the perverted man who liked to touch women.

Emrys turned to him. “Is something funny?”

The man sipped his wine thoughtfully. “That lady bitch, Lord commander of the kingsguard,” he spat at his own words, wine spurting out of his mouth. “She makes me fucking laugh ‘til my sides hurt. They make anyone knights these days. And all she had to do was fuck a cripple.”

Emrys stood and calmly removed the brown sack tied to his waist—it was chunky, filled with who knows what, and always clanked whenever he walked. He quickly made his way to where the man sat. “Pardon me,” he said politely, “but that knight just so happens to be my sister.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, boy,” said the man. “Sorry you’ve got a wench for a sister.”

Bronn heard a loud clank and the man fell to the ground hard. Emrys had hit him with his brown sack. Blood oozed out of his nose and he cried out in pain. His friends were quick to their feet, drawing out their weapons.

“For fuck’s sake,” mumbled Bronn as he gathered Topaz and Emrys in his arms. He kicked the table over, forcing the men to stumble back, and dashed towards the exit.

* * *

 

“What the bloody hell is in that sack anyway,” asked Bronn.

“A huge rock I found on Tarth,” Emrys said. His face was red in anger. “Who the—How could he say such hateful words about her? She is the most honorable knight in all the kingdoms combined!”

“Men are hateful,” said Bronn simply. “You should’ve learned that already.”

“Not all men.”

Emrys thought of the Evenstar, Lord Selwyn Tarth. He was never hateful. He had caught a man thieving from him once; someone wanted his fingers cut off for it, but Lord Selwyn wouldn’t have it. He asked the thief why he had done it, when the man explained his situation, Lord Selwyn even let him keep the money he had stolen, making him promise to start living life honorably. And Lord Tyrion, he had more honor than any full man Emrys knew. The Evenstar spoke of him in such high regard when he was still alive.

His hand lingered down to the brown sack around his waist and guilt began to consume him. He stopped his horse suddenly. “Maybe we should go back.”

“What?”

“I want to go back,” he said. “I… I have to return something to King’s Landing.”

“We’ll be in Winterfell soon enough,” said Bronn, trudging forward.

“Please,” said Emrys. “I took something—I don’t know why I took it, but I took it. We need to go back. I need to return it to its rightful owner.”

Bronn turned to Emrys just as an arrow hit his shoulder. He yelped in pain and fell off his horse. Emrys’s horse neighed loudly and bucked him off as another arrow followed quickly, nearly cutting its ear off. Emrys held onto Topaz tightly as they fell to the cold hard ground.

He heard a laugh and the man he had hit in the tavern stood before him with dried blood on his face. Topaz attempted to growl at him, but the man kicked him quiet. “I could kill you,” said the man darkly.

Bronn moved quick with the arrow still stuck in his shoulder and stabbed him with his sword. The man cried out in pain and slapped Bronn back onto the ground.

“I could kill both of you,” he wheezed out. He gave Emrys a good hard kick to the face, and the image of the man suddenly became blurry. Bronn hit him again with his sword and the man swayed backwards.

The man with no eye appeared in Emrys’s sight and removed Topaz from his arms. “No!” said Emrys as he stood. He removed the two swords from his back and swung at him with all his might. Weakened by the kick, however, he fell to his knees. “No,” he said again as the man slapped him down to his stomach. He took out his knife and Emrys knew it was his end. “Tell my mother I loved her. Tell her I always loved her.”

But before the blade touched his skin, Bronn’s foot kicked it away. Another man grabbed Bronn and knocked him to the ground. The man with one eye then turned back to Emrys. He reached for his knife, and Emrys prepared himself for pain. He had accidently cut himself on Sapphireknight, the sword given to him on his fifth name day, when he was still a small boy. The pain was terrible, and he called for Brienne as the maester stitched him back up. The Evenstar sent the sword away for his own protection. Instead of cutting into him, however, the one-eyed man cut the belt holding Emrys’s brown sack and smiled when he looked inside.

“No,” Emrys said firmly. “Please no… I need that.”

He reached for the sack, but the man slapped it back down and kicked him unconscious.

Bronn slapped him awake a few hours later, his face just as bruised and bloodied as Emrys’s. The arrow was still stuck in his arm and he made no effort to remove it. Emrys searched around him. “They took my sack,” he kept repeating. “They took my sack.”

“They took the bear too,” said Bronn weakly. “ _You fucking cunt_.”

“Topaz,” he said. He got to his feet and whistled. A horse—whether it was his or Bronn’s, or someone else’s, he was none too sure—came quickly and Emrys mounted it.

“Hey!” yelled Bronn. “Hey, what the fuck are you doing?”

“They took my sack,” said Emrys. “They took my bear.”

As he rode north, he could hear Bronn’s screams in the distance, saying the same three words: “ _You fucking cunt!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to make this fic 5 or 6 chapters. (Chapter 3: The Dog of the North; Chapter 4: Brothers Beyond the Wall; Chapter 5 (?): unnamed chapter I'll have to make if chapter 4 gets too long; Chapter 5/6: The Ball at Evenfall Hall)  
> Hopefully, I'll be able to do weekly updates. Thanks for reading!


	3. No More Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emrys meets with the queen and her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I lied about this chapter being titled The Dog of the North... sorry.

Theresia loved watching the birds in Winterfell. She even sometimes brought food for them from the kitchens or fed them scraps, even after Septa Mildgyd told her to stop. Her father hated the birds because they pooped everywhere—one bird took a particular liking to him, a small red one, that always aimed for his head whenever it flew by. Finally having enough with the birds, her father decided to help her build homes for them, outside the castle where they could not bother him anymore. “Everything has a place,” he told her. “A dog has a place.” At her bedside on particularly stormy nights… or underneath papa at mealtimes. “A horse has a place.” In the stables, where she can brush them and give them kisses, and apples if they so desire.

“Does a girl have a place, papa?” Theresia asked her father.

“A girl has a place,” he confirmed. “And so do birds,” he added as he hammered down the last of the bird homes they had built, making sure it was deep in the soil.

“Now they have a home,” she said, hugging her father.

He smiled. “Aye,” he said, “now they have a home.”

Theresia was only a girl of ten. She was named for her paternal grandmother, Theresia of House Clegane, but had her mother’s looks. She had been told many times that she would be her mother’s exact copy had her eyes been blue instead of grey. Ardy, her older brother, on the other hand, looked like a northern man through and through. Those that remembered her grandfather, like their mother, say he very much resembled the late Eddard Stark. And Cate, her sweet sister of four, looked like their Aunt Arya.

Theresia looked around. The birds were nowhere in sight. She had last seen them near the castle. “What if they don’t come to their new home, papa?”

“They will,” he told her. “Feed them their food here and they’ll stay.” He turned, intending to walk back to the castle. Theresia grabbed his hand and skipped beside him.

“Do you think they’ll like their new home?”

He looked down at his daughter. “It was made by you,” he said. “Aye, they’ll love it.”

They heard a bark and Lulu came running towards them. They stopped for a moment so Theresia could pet her. Then she grabbed her father’s hand again and they continued their journey, with Lulu following close behind. “Will Lemon Cake be having more puppies soon?”

“It appears that way, yes.”

“Are we keeping them?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered. “We’ll sell them.”

Theresia looked at him with heartbreak in her eyes. “What if they get sold to a bandit… or a witch! Or a bandit witch! Oh, papa! You can’t sell them to a bandit witch!”

“I’ll sell them to good people,” he said.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Hearing a neighing in the distance, they turned to see a horse trotting towards them with something on top of it. Theresia squinted, attempting to see what it was; she saw something blue and something gold, but all she mostly saw was fur. It was a dead animal of some sort, she suspected. A hunter had misplaced his horse and meat, simply. The horse bucked up, and the animal slid off. Her father immediately sprinted towards it. She and Lulu followed.

She expected it to be a deer or a hog, not a fallen angel, beaten and broken. His eyes were closed, and, for a moment, she thought him dead, before she noticed he was shivering. His hair, greasy and knotted, and clothes were wet from the morning snow. Theresia’s father quickly removed his cloak and wrapped it around him to keep him warm.

“Will he be all right, papa?” she asked, attempting to hide the panic in her voice.

“Yes, yes, my lady,” said the boy, his voice weak. “Just lead me north and I shall be on my way.” He opened his eyes, then quickly closed them again when the sunlight became too much.

Her father lifted him up into his arms. Lulu barked furiously. “Let’s get him back. Have the maester check him out.”

“Needn’t… bother,” said the boy. He opened his eyes and turned to her, a smile forming on his face. “Pardon me, my dear, I had no idea I was in the presence of the fair princess.”

Green met grey and she turned away, blushing, realizing he was the boy she had kissed in King's Landing.

* * *

 

 _No more lies_ , Emrys thought as he awoke in unfamiliar territory. He sat up quickly, regretting it immediately when his head throbbed in pain. He plopped himself back down and groaned. He remembered now. He arrived in Winterfell early in the morning with only himself and his two swords on his back. The whole morning was a blur. He remembered Theresia blushing and comforting him as the maester examined the bruises on his head. Thankfully, all he had were bruises, nothing more. After being treated, he asked if a few men could go retrieve Bronn from wherever Emrys had left him. The place where they had been attacked.  “No more lies,” he mumbled to himself.

Topaz. His brown sack of… _No more lies_. Topaz and Tyrion’s golden hand, gone because of him. He didn’t know why he took it. The thing just called to him, like wine called to Lord Tyrion. He slipped it in his sack before Brienne or Pod noticed and left. He knew he shouldn’t have… but he did it anyway. And then that man, _that awful man_ , insulted her… He wouldn’t even be in this mess if Brienne… _NO MORE LIES!_ She is the rightful heir; his mother deserves to be Evenstar.

“Pardon?”

He turned to see a servant woman looking at him curiously near the roaring fire. “No more lies,” he told her. He sat up again, this time slowly, and the furs slid from his body. He realized he was only in his smallclothes. He didn’t remember ever undressing. “Where are my clothes?” _And who took them off me?_

“They’re being washed, m’lord,” she said simply. “Had sweat and blood all over them.”

He untangled himself from the sheets and stood, the cold air on his bare skin sent a shiver down his spine. Feeling faint, he sat back down and massaged his forehead. “Ah, yes, of course.”

“There’s some clothes for you in the wardrobe, m’lord,” she said. “When yours are washed and dried I’ll have them sent up straight away.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Emrys stood again and limped his way to the mirror. He had bathed after the maester’s examination and his hair once again had that beautiful golden glow. His green eyes still sparkled underneath all the swelling, which wasn’t nearly as bad as it was this morning. He was bruised, mostly in the face, but still beautiful.

“One more thing, m’lord,” said the servant. “The queen, she's invited you to have dinner with her and her family tonight.”

“Wonderful,” said Emrys. He looked forward to seeing Theresia again. He was a bit disoriented when she left him with the maester. He remembered trying to thank her for her kindness, but it all jumbled out as nonsense.

His muscles ached as he made his way over to the wardrobe. When he opened it, only a single red dress hung inside. He turned to the servant— “Red’s not really my color,” he made to say—but she had already left. He simply shrugged and removed the dress from the wardrobe; he had worn worse.

He pretended not to notice the weird looks people gave him as he swaggered on over to dinner, but they all seemed so judgmental. Tarth people at least had the decency to keep their looks to themselves. What was he supposed to do, attend the dinner with the queen naked as his name day? The dress was a bit tight in the shoulders and too big in the chest area and too short at the bottom, but it was soft and warm.

“Er—Lord Emrys…?”

He turned to see a tall knight dressed in white armor. On his belt he held SapphireKnight, the Valyrian steel sword given to him on his fifth name day. He remembered the concern on Brienne’s— _no, his mother’s_ —face as he unwrapped it. “He’s too young for such a weapon,” his— _no more lies_ —grandfather told the man who gave it to him, who was some elite in Essos visiting Tarth. He wanted Emrys to be betrothed to one of his daughters.

“Cousin Gerallt,” said Emrys, trying to sound as lordly as possible. “How are you?”

“I’m… fine. I heard you arrived this morning. I hope you’re—why are you in a dress, cousin?”

“It’s all they had.”

Gerallt coughed awkwardly, then pulled out SapphireKnight and presented it to the young Evenstar.

“What are you doing?”

“Your father gave this to me when I told him of my plans to join the queensguard,” he said. Ser Gerallt’s decision to go north was met with a lot of controversy in Tarth. Emrys’s uncle—his great uncle now—almost disowned him for it. Gerallt’s siblings weren’t too pleased about the decision either. Emrys was with his grandfather when he gave SapphireKnight to him. Selwyn Tarth was a man of little words, so he simply grabbed Gerallt by his shoulders and told him to be true.

 _Be true_ , thought Emrys.

“Don’t… don’t you need it?”

“I have another sword,” he said. “This one belongs with the Evenstar. Rule Tarth with it at your hip. _Be true_.”

 _No more lies_. He grabbed the hilt of the sword with two hands and examined it carefully. It shone many colors, many beautiful colors. It was lighter than he remembered it being, but still heavy. His wrist soon ached from the weight and Ser Gerallt soon took it again. “I can see you’re headed somewhere. I’ll see that it gets to your chambers safely, my lord.”

“Thank you,” said Emrys, still hypnotized by the sword’s beauty. It was named for his mother, after all.

* * *

 

He arrived late to the queen’s dinner, due to taking a wrong turn. All the doors in Winterfell looked the same to him. He mistakenly opened the door to the baths and accidentally walked in on a few women bathing. He blushed a deep red and apologized immediately, but they hardly looked disturbed. With his shoulder length hair and red dress, they must have thought him a girl.

They were already seated at the table when he finally arrived. The door opened and someone had announced him to the queen. The queen’s face flushed a furious red when she saw that he was wearing a dress instead of proper male clothing. Theresia, his love, looked embarrassed when she saw him. Her two siblings—Cate and the dog—both snickered. Her father looked stunned for a moment, then went back to eating.

“Your Grace,” he said, remembering to bow this time.

“Lord Emrys, the Evenstar of Tarth,” she said.

 _No more lies_ , he thought as he nodded and sat down.

“Pardon my clothes. Whoever’s in charge of laundry apparently didn’t realize red was not my color.”

The dog of the north laughed at that. The queen nudged him to be quiet. He was only a year younger than Emrys, though he was awfully short for an eleven-year-old. Or Emrys was awfully tall for a twelve-year-old.

“I apologize for the mix up,” said the queen. “Though, I’m certain a servant would have found something more suitable for you to wear had you asked."

Emrys shrugged. “If my sister can wear armor, I can wear dresses.” _No more lies_.

It was Sandor Clegane who laughed this time. The queen gave him a stern look and he went back to eating.

“I thank you, Your Grace, for inviting me to have dinner with you and your family,” he said.

He looked at Theresia, who avoided his gaze. He planned to ask for her hand—he had written a whole speech declaring his love for her, even—but… no more lies. He was now just a bastard. Kingslayer’s bastard; Brienne’s son. He had a new plan now: retrieve Topaz and Tyrion’s hand from those rotten men, kill those rotten men, then beg for his mother to return with him to Tarth.

He looked back at the queen and smiled. “And I thank you for your hospitality,” he continued, “but I am afraid I will not be staying with you for too long.”

“I don’t understand. You sent a raven weeks ago, asking to come here. You said you had to speak with me about an urgent matter.”

He looked over at Theresia again, who seemed to have worked up the courage to look at him. “Yes, well it wasn’t so urgent… Apologies if I scared you, Your Grace,” he said. “I’ll be headed for the wall come morning.”

“The wall?” It was Sandor Clegane who spoke. “Why do you need to go to the bloody wall?” He had never heard the man speak until this morning. He had met him once before when he was small—when Emrys was still living in King’s Landing with his mother. Sandor was there on behalf of the queen, for some important reason—Emrys was three, he did not pay much attention to politics. He feared the burnt man, because he had been told that Sandor Clegane had died in the Great War, and he was afraid of ghosts back then.

“You will not be going anywhere,” said the queen. “I’ve sent a raven to King’s Landing. The king is sending your… Ser Brienne to come get you and take you home. I promised her I’d look after you until then.”

“I won’t be too long, Your Grace,” said Emrys. “I’m only going to retrieve my stolen things. I should be back before my—she—gets here.”

“I will not have you gallivanting up north of the wall,” said the queen. “You are under my care—which means you will follow my rules. You will not leave this castle.”

 _No more lies_.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said.

It must have been the first time anyone, other than his mother, talked to him as if he were a boy and not the Evenstar since Lord Selwyn had died. He admired her for it. But he still needed to get Tyrion’s hand back. And Topaz, if they hadn’t killed him yet.

“And find some decent clothing,” she continued. “You look like Cer—” She stopped, a sudden panic in her eyes.

When she didn’t continue, Emrys spoke up: “Ser Brienne, Your Grace? I look like my sister?” _No more lies_.

She seemed to relax. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, you look like your… sister.”

* * *

 

Emrys rose before the morning light did. He had trouble sleeping all night; birds kept chirping at his window, waking him up. He decided finally to get dressed and leave for the north. Better to do it before anyway woke up and stop him. He dressed in his regular blue and brown Tarth clothing and wrapped himself warmly in the furs he had borrowed from Prince Ardy. He decided to leave his two simple swords behind and take SapphireKnight along on his journey instead. It was heavy and a pain to carry, but he needed something powerful to face those men; his own swords were useless against them.

He quietly made his way to the stables. It was much harder to find it in the darkness. Again, he mistakenly found his way to the baths, though no women occupied the them anymore. He felt his face heat at the memory. One of them had been standing up in the bath and he saw all of her, including the hair between her legs. It matched the hair atop her head. He didn’t know women got hair down there. He and Catrin bathed together when they were small… though he did not recall seeing any hair down there on her. His grandfather, before he died, told him it was all part of growing up. He wondered if Theresia was growing up.

A man slept outside the stables. Emrys suspected he was a drunk, who was unable to find his way home, but when he tried to move past him and enter the stables, the man grabbed Emrys's leg.

“Stop, boy.”

The voice was raspy and all too familiar. “Lord Sandor, I was just—” He couldn’t think of a good excuse. There was no reason for him to be up so early.

Sandor stood, brushing the dirt off his pants. The darkness made his expression hard to read, but Emrys had no doubt he was about to get yelled at. Maybe if he ran… The man was strong and big, but Emrys might be able to take him by surprise. He could kick him in the groin and run.

“I’m going with you,” said Sandor, and he led him into the stables. He had two horses already saddled up and ready for them to leave.

“You’re going _with_ me?” said Emrys, hardly hiding his shock.

“Aye.”

“But the queen—”

“I’ll get an earful from her later,” he said. “But I know nothing’s stopping you from going. And you can’t go alone.” His attention went to Emrys’s sword. “Know how to use that?”

He placed a firm hand on the tip of the sword. “Yes,” Emrys lied.

“You better,” said Sandor.

“Can I ask you a question?” said Emrys as they strode away from the stables. “Why do people think you’re dead? Even in the texts, it says you died in King’s Landing with your brother.”

“My brother died long before that,” he said. “I nearly did die with… whatever that thing was—but I didn’t. I left the castle before it collapsed. Wandered on my own for a bit, then found my way back north. Guess people assumed I died. Can I ask you a question now?”

Emrys nodded.

“What’d you lose that’s so important to go beyond the wall for?”

 _No more lies_. “Tyrion’s golden hand—his brother’s golden hand,” said Emrys. “I stole it from him. I hit a man in the face with it in a tavern last night. They took it when they attacked us. And my bear, too.”

His mind went to Ser Bronn, whom he had left wounded in the snow. The men Emrys had sent to retrieve him came back in the evening empty handed. They said he was gone, not even his body remained.

Emrys prepared for Sandor to ask why he stole the hand—'No more lies’ were becoming his new house words—but the man only nodded, as if he understood.

“We can try to track them—but it’ll be hard with the snow,” he said. “I sent a raven, saying we’d be arriving soon. If we hurry, it’ll only be a few days ride.”

They stopped and turned when they heard a horse galloping behind them. Prince Ardy was quickly catching up to them.

“Get back to bed, boy!” ordered Sandor.

“Wha—so you take the princess north and not your own son,” said Ardy, offended.

Emrys was offended himself; he was hardly a princess, though he looked more royal than the prince. And after dinner, he soon found out it was Ardy and Cate who put the red dress in his wardrobe, after hearing a rumor that the Evenstar enjoyed wearing dresses.

“This doesn’t concern you. Go back inside.”

“I want to see Uncle Jon,” said Ardy. “Why does he get to go and not me?”

“Because he’s not my bloody son,” said Sandor. “I don’t care if he dies.”

He did care, Emrys knew. Otherwise he wouldn’t be going with him. “Thank you for that lovely comment, but we really should be off.”

“Please, pop… I can hold a sword. I can fight,” he said.

“All right, fine, but if you die, he dies,” he said, gesturing towards Emrys.

* * *

 

The wall was far bigger than Emrys expected. His mother told him about it once before, but he figured it was the same size as the wall on Tarth's beach that prevented damage when hurricanes hit. This wall was excessively huge, and Emrys wondered why they kept it standing. The war had been won long ago; the threat beyond the wall had long passed.

Two men stood at the entrance. One of the men had red hair and a long beard that was as white as the snow beneath them. He was short but had a broad chest and a big belly. The other man caught Emrys’s eye almost immediately. Both his hair and beard were silver with hints of gold. The way his hair and beard merged together at his sideburns almost made it look like he had a lion’s mane. When Emrys got closer, he noticed the man’s eyes sparkled a familiar green. His hands were hidden under his heavy thick fur cloak, but still Emrys could not help but wonder…

“Tormund. Hunfrid,” Sandor greeted them with a respectful nod. He then turned to the two boys. Ardy still seemed to be focused on the wall while Emrys had his gaze firmly on the silver lion’s cloak, hoping to see a hand pop out. “Meet the brothers of the north,” he told them, gesturing to the two men.


	4. Brothers of the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emrys converses with the lion man. People reconnect.

Emrys once overheard someone refer to his mother as the Kingslayer’s whore. He was only eight at the time and he didn’t understand what the words meant, but he remembered Lord Selwyn being furious when he told him. He didn’t realize Kingslayer and Jaime Lannister were the same person until King Bran’s name day a few years ago. Bronn told him the story. He felt deceived by Tyrion and his mother after hearing about the man who betrayed his king, the people who spoke of the dead man like he was a hero. Emrys spent a whole three days not speaking to his mother because of it, until she finally confronted him. Then she told him the true story… and he felt foolish.

Tyrion told him once while drunk about finding his siblings beneath the rubble the day Daenerys Targaryen went mad. At the time, Emrys didn’t understand why Tyrion chose him, out of all the people the lord knew in his life, but when he read Lord Selwyn’s letter to his daughter it all became clear: she was the Kingslayer’s whore, and he was their bastard, thus making Lord Tyrion his uncle.

Jaime Lannister was dead, Emrys knew that. He was buried somewhere with his sister, nothing more than a rotting corpse now. But still, he felt an urgent need to see the wildling’s right hand. He said his name was Hunfrid, brother to Tormund Giantsbane, but the curious looks Hunfrid kept giving him made Emrys wonder if he was lying.

He purposefully chose to ride beside him. “You look like a wildling,” began Emrys, “but you don’t speak or act like one.”

“Known many wildlings, have you?”

He heard stories from his mother and Lord Tyrion about the wildling people. They were brutish. He always imagined them being Westeros’s version of the Dothraki people. One of them even tried to court his mother, a high-born lady.

“I suppose I haven’t,” he said. “Your people helped us defeat the Night King.”

“Aye, we did.”

“Is that how you lost your hand?” Hunfrid still kept his right arm hidden beneath his furs. Emrys had yet to see it, but curiosity got the better of him. He needed to see the man's hand. He needed to know he had nothing to worry about.

Hunfrid removed his right arm from the furs. No hand in sight. Emrys’s heart sank to his stomach. “Aye, it… it was.” He looked suspiciously over at Emrys.

“My father was also there,” Emrys said. “Perhaps you fought alongside him.”

“Perhaps,” said Hunfrid. “What was his name?”

“Lord Tyrion of House Lannister,” he lied. His Tarth coat of arms was hidden beneath his furs.

The man’s eyes went wide for a moment before he turned away from Emrys, looking at the endless mounts of snow around them instead. “You’re… Tyrion’s boy?” He coughed.

“His bastard, yes. Jaime—” Hunfrid flinched at the name. “Jaime Hill,” he introduced. “Pleased to meet you.” Emrys supposed if Lord Tyrion were to ever father a child, bastard or not, he would name it after his beloved brother Jaime. “Did you know my father well?”

“No,” said Hunfrid. “The... _Imp_ didn’t even fight in the battle.”

He purposefully sped up his horse to move away from Emrys. He was done talking; Emrys was not. He kicked his horse to catch up with Hunfrid’s horse.

“You were surrounded by Westeros’s greatest legends,” continued Emrys. “Theon Greyjoy. Arya Stark, the No Lady of Winterfell. King Bran.”

Hunfrid only nodded, looking more than a little irritated.

“Ser Brienne of Tarth, even,” said Emrys.

He looked at him then, and Emrys saw something in the man’s eyes: a slight sparkle.

“Hey! Over there,” shouted Tormund, who was a few distances ahead of them. Sandor Clegane and the Dog of the North stayed behind at the camp to visit with Jon Snow, the Lord Commander of the North. Tormund and Hunfrid, Emrys quickly learned, were Jon Snow’s most loyal servants, his right-hand men.

It was an abandoned campsite Tormund had spotted. A tent and some burnt log wood were all that remained. Tormund was first to mount off his horse. Emrys made to follow him, but Hunfrid ordered him to stay on his horse. The ginger wildling touched one of the logs with his bare hand. “It’s still warm.”

Hunfrid examined the tent and shuffled the snow around it. “And no sign of a struggle.”

“Struggle?” The men were all friends from what Emrys had gathered; unless one of them had suddenly rebelled against them. The man with the red beard seemed distant with the others, but he still seemed like he liked the others. “Why would they have struggled?”

Tormund and Hunfrid shared a knowing look before turning back to Emrys.

“What are we looking for again?” asked Hunfrid.

 _Your golden hand, lion man_. “A brown sack… with certain treasures inside it,” said Emrys. “And Topaz.”

Hunfrid nodded. “Right. The bear.”

Tormund checked the snow. Emrys only saw the coldness beneath them, but he sensed the wildling saw something more. “They headed south,” he said, pointing.

“How does one acquire a small bear cub, anyway?” asked Hunfrid as he mounted his horse again.

“It was a gift,” said Emrys. His hand rested on Sapphireknight. “As was this…”

“You must be quite special if people are gifting you Valyrian swords.”

“I’m the hand of the king’s bastard son,” said Emrys with a shrug. “I’m surprised a wildling knows what a Valyrian sword is.”

“Well, I…” he stuttered out. “I fought in the—”

“Ser Brienne of Tarth gave it to me on my tenth name day,” Emrys lied again. “She had it forged out of some old sword of hers. I can’t seem to recall the name of that one… Oath-something. Oathmaker… Oh, no, I remember now. _Oathbreaker_.”

“Oathkeeper,” Hunfrid corrected, the sparkle in his eyes leaving him. And now Emrys had no doubt.

 _Why did you leave her?_ he wanted to ask. _Why did you leave us?_ Instead he pulled out the sword and handed it to Hunfrid. The man’s own sword was old and looked as if it were made out of dragonglass.

“Take it,” said Emrys as Hunfrid looked at him with a confused expression on his face.  “It’s too heavy for me… And I’m better with two swords, anyway.”

“Two swords?” said Hunfrid, amusement in his voice.

They heard a small squeal in the distance and Emrys smiled. “Topaz!”

Topaz cried out again. Emrys quickly jumped off his horse and began running towards the cries.

“Wait. Jaime!” said Hunfrid, following him.

Emrys ran until he saw a small brown smudge running towards him, then he dropped to his knees and extended out his arms. The bear leaped into his arms and Emrys felt his eyes swell. _No more lies_ , he thought again as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He expected to see Hunfrid beside him, but it was Tormund. He was looking out at the whiteness before them. “Stay close,” he ordered as he drew out his weapon: a large dagger that also looked like it was made out of dragonglass. Emrys stood, holding Topaz securely in his arms, as they trudged forward.

They only had to walk a few minutes before they came across the men's bodies. The only other corpse Emrys had seen was his grandfather’s. He was there when the light shone out of his his eyes. He remembered how the room froze when Lord Selwyn’s ghost left his body, and then Maester Wilmont turned to Emrys and addressed him as the new Evenstar. These men, who were so pink and alive just a few nights ago, were frozen and blue. Lifeless.

“What could’ve done this to them?” asked Emrys.

“Stay here, boy,” said Tormund as he walked to the corpses. He stepped over one of the corpses and examined another beside it. Emrys’s eyes quickly found the man with the one eye, the man who took Topaz and his sack. Tormund had his back turned to Emrys, so he set Topaz down and began rummaging through the man’s pockets.

“Jaime,” he heard Hunfrid’s voice say behind him. “Get away from there!”

_Jaime?_

And then he heard it. The terrible scream of a dead man. The corpse was alive and looking at him with its cold, lifeless eye. It took the knife grasped in its cold, frozen hand and struck Emrys in the stomach. He screamed out in pain as Hunfrid—no, Jaime… the real Jaime—drove Sapphireknight into the corpse’s heart.

Emrys held the knife in his shaking hand and wheezed out in pain as he tugged at it. Jaime quickly stopped him from pulling it out. He felt tears in his eyes as he fell to the ground, the knife still deep inside him. Topaz quickly rushed over to lick his face.

“ _Jaime_ ,” said Jaime. He could hear the panic in his voice.

Emrys wondered how the man would react if he knew he was his father. _Do you know,_  Emrys wondered. Did he know his son was dying in his arms? He grabbed Jaime’s furs with a bloodied hand. “When… when my mother comes for me,” he told him. “Tell her that I loved her. Tell her that I have always loved her.”

“Just hold on, Jaime.”

 _Emrys_ , he thought. _I’m Brienne’s son, Emrys_.

* * *

 

There was no mistaken it, not anymore. She was a woman. A high-born lady with a bastard child. Her son. _Their_ son. He had given her many things—armor, a squire, a sword, his word, his love—but Emrys was the best gift she had ever received from him by far.

He was beautiful, _truly_ beautiful, outside and in. His heart was just as much golden as the hair atop his head. And truly innocent. She thought to name him Galladon, after Ser Galladon of Morne, the Perfect Knight. And her dear brother, whom she thought of often. Brave, true and innocent. It was Tyrion who suggested the name Emrys. He heard the name once while at the docks and it stuck with him. It was also Tyrion who suggested her father claim Emrys as his own, so not to tarnish Brienne’s reputation. Lord Selwyn agreed to it and Emrys, aged five, officially became Tarth’s heir when Bran made him the legitimate son of the Evenstar. But it was all a lie.

If she had to do it all over again, she would claim him as her own. She would proudly show the world her bastard son, the one she made with Kingslayer. Emrys Storm, the bastard of Tarth, they would call him.

When she received Sansa’s raven, the king had already known her decision. Even before she herself fully decided what she would do. He nodded his approval and she removed her golden armor, a knight of the Kingsguard no more, and left to retrieve her son, her beautiful bastard son. Ser Podrick took her place as Lord Commander.

Now she stood before Jon Snow, the supposed king beyond the wall. He aged tremendously since she had last seen him. His hair, once black, was now white as snow; it was concerning, for he was still quite young. “What do you mean he was attacked by _Others_? The Others are dead… we defeated them in Winterfell—”

“Aye, that’s what we thought too. Turns out winning one battle, doesn’t guarantee a victory in the war, big woman,” said a voice behind her, a voice she wished she had forgotten.

“Tormund,” she greeted stiffly. Her attention went back to Jon. “Where is he now?”

“Inside,” said Jon. “We stopped the bleeding and stitched him up. He’s had milk of the poppy; I doubt he’ll be responsive. It’s best we let him rest.”

Milk of the poppy was no concern of hers. She needed to be with her son, awake or asleep. She was walking towards the cabin when Tormund put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Big woman, there’s some—”

“I’m in no mood,” she snapped, swiping his hand away.

She quickly entered the cabin, the heat from the fire hitting her fiercely. He was asleep next to it, bundled up in soft furs. He let out a soft sigh in his sleep and Brienne sat down next to him. She brushed a curl away from his forehead and kissed him gently. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” she whispered softly.

“Brienne?” Another familiar voice, though this was a voice she held on for dear life. A voice she now only heard in her dreams.

She quickly sat up but kept her back turned from him.

“Tyrion sent you then?” the voice continued.

Man or ghost, Brienne was none too sure. Jaime Lannister was dead. Tyrion confirmed it himself; he had seen the bodies. Still, she remained silent. She focused her attention back on Emrys, her beautiful sleeping son.  _Their_ beautiful sleeping son. Even in his sleep he looked like a young God.

“He’ll be wanting this back when he wakes,” he said. His voice sounded harsh. Brienne realized he was now standing beside her. In his hands, he held Ser Garallt’s Valyrian sword.

“Why do you have Sapphireknight?” It came out harsher than she intended.

“Is that what he calls it,” he said. “He never did give me the name.”

She turned to him fully. The hard look on his face softened when he found her eyes. He was older and hairier and had more silver than gold in both his hair and beard, but there was no denying that it was Jaime Lannister standing before her. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

He simply shrugged. “I’m supposed to be a lot of things.”

He offered her the sword again, but she did not take it. Instead she stood. He looked surprised to see Oathkeeper at her belt. “Why are you in the north?”

“It grew on me,” he answered. She frowned. “Look… I don’t know what happened. I—one moment, I’m being crushed by rocks… And then suddenly I’m awake. Naked and alone. No sister. No golden hand. Just me. I stumbled my way out of King’s Landing wearing rags I stole from some corpse’s body. I met Sandor Clegane on the rode some time after all the chaos ceased. He told me what happened with the Targaryen girl and Jon Snow— _how the boy was Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms_. I heard the Three Eyed Raven King made you his Lord Commander. And my brother is his Hand.” _Did he tell you about Emrys, my son?_ Sansa knew… Brienne’s sure she told her husband eventually. “We headed north together. Sandor stopped in Winterfell. I offered my services to Jon Snow.

“Look, Brienne... What we had in—I loved you. But I was too ashamed to face you again. I didn’t—you deserve so much better than me, Brienne,” he continued. She was inclined to agree. “Part of me wanted things to go back the way they were in Winterfell, but I knew… I knew that would never happen.”

She felt her lower lip quiver as Emrys stirred below them. “ _Mama_ ,” he mumbled out, and suddenly her and Emrys were the only two people in the world. She ignored Jaime and sat down again, her attention now only on her son.

Jaime gave her a quizzical look. “You… and Tyrion? Did you— _bond_ after the war?"

_“What?”_

The door opened and Tormund poked his head inside. “A group of Others were seen heading for the wall,” he said.

Jaime nodded. “I’ll be back soon.” He set Sapphireknight down beside her and left. 

Brienne turned back to her son, whose eye were now open and looking at Brienne. He blinked a few times before the tears started to fall. He made to sit up, but Brienne quickly settled him back down.

“I… did something bad,” he said to her in a soft whisper. “I took Tyrion’s golden hand… I saw him talking to it… and then when he left, I took it. I shoved it in my sack and went to your room. And I hit someone with it in a tavern on the way to Winterfell… They attacked us and took it. And Topaz—” He gasped, attempting to sit up again. He hissed in pain. Brienne brought him back down. He wiped the tears from his face and looked around the room. “Where’s… where’s Topaz?”

“He’s fine. He’s with Prince Eddard and some wildlings now.”

“ _The Others have me_ ,” he swore.

Sansa had told her about the dress incident. Her son and daughter put a dress in his room and Emrys was foolish enough to wear it. Sansa told her privately she thought he looked like Cersei while wearing it. Brienne passed for a man and Emrys passed for a woman; they were the perfect pair.

“Listen—Emrys, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago. I… I left the Kingsguard.”

Emrys made no effort to hide his smile as he attempted to sit up again. This time, Brienne helped him by adjusting the pillow beneath him. “You’ll come to Tarth and be the Evenstar, then?”

“It’s not so simple,” she said. “Emrys, I’m—”

“Lord Selwyn’s true heir.”

“No—yes, but—”

“I know," he said simply.

“I don’t think you do,” she said. “Emrys, I’m trying to tell you—”

He touched the lion on Oathkeeper and stroked it softly. “I do know,” he said. “I think I’ve always known. Even if you truly were my sister, I don’t think I could see you as anything but my mother.” She smiled, her eyes glossy with tears. “Also, I read the letter.”

She laughed. “Of course you did.”

His hand moved to her face and he stroked her cheek softly. She melted at his touch. “How could such a beauty give birth to such a beast,” he said.

Brienne blushed when she realized he was being serious. “You are not a beast, Emrys.” If anything, she was the beast and he was the beauty.

“I lie. I steal… I—”

“You’re a twelve-year-old boy who made a few mistakes,” said Brienne.

“And I’m a terrible Evenstar,” he said. “I spent a lot of money on preparations for my thirteenth name day celebration. Ser Dariss made no effort to hide his disappointment when I commissioned a statue of myself to be made for the occasion.”

“Your name day’s not for another six months.”

“ _Mother_ ,” he said. The word felt awkward to hear out loud, but she loved to hear him say it. Emrys called her “mama” when he was real young, just a babe still sucking at her breasts, but when he left for Tarth, he quickly started referring to her as Brienne, believing her to be his sister. “Mother, I want to return to Tarth as your bastard son, not as the Evenstar.”

She only nodded as the tears rolled down her face. She wanted to tell him about Jaime—how he was alive and how he was his father—but she also selfishly wanted keep him for herself. She could not do that, Brienne knew. It would be unfair to Jaime and I nfair to Emrys.

She opened her mouth to speak when they heard a knock at the door and Sandor Clegane entered. He respectively turned away when he saw that she was crying. “Sorry for interrupting,” he said. “The bear’s… getting a little yappy. Some of the wildlings are threatening to cook him.”

Emrys slowly rose to a sitting position with the help of Brienne. The tight wrap he wore around his abdomen had blood seeping through it. She gently placed a gentle hand over it. He flinched at the touch and hissed his discomfort.

“I suspect he’s missing me,” said Emrys, shifting uncomfortably. He made to stand, but Brienne stopped him.

“I’ll go,” she said. “Stay here. Rest.”

* * *

His mother quickly left. Sandor Clegane did not. He motioned to Emrys’s wound. “Nasty little buggers, aren’t they?”

“You knew about them,” said Emrys. “You knew they still existed?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

 _Then what was the war all for?_ he wanted to ask. “Got any parchment?” he said instead.

“What do you want that for?”

“I mean to send a raven to King’s Landing,” said Emrys. He adjusted himself back on the bed. “To inform the Hand his brother is still very much alive.”

“You sure you want to do that?”

“It’s the least I could do, considering.”

Sandor only nodded and left to fetch Emrys's supplies.

Emrys kept the message short and sweet, like his grandfather had always done.

* * *

 

 

_Lost your golden hand. Went up north to retrieve it. Found a Kingslayer instead._

 

“I don’t understand,” said Tyrion after reading the letter out loud before his king. “ _Kingslayer_ … He can’t mean—not Jaime? Of course not Jaime...”

Bran only looked at him, his dark eyes gleaming.

“But… Jaime’s dead. I saw him—I saw _them_. In each other’s arms.”

“You saw exactly what I needed you to see,” said Bran simply. “You all did that day.”

 

 


	5. The Ball at Evenfall Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emrys and Brienne dance like they've always wanted.

Word about Emrys’s true parentage arrived on Tarth before Brienne and her son did. They left the north shortly after reuniting as mother and son, and on the road home, people were already beginning to refer to him as _Kingslayer’s bastard_. Emrys loved it. Brienne did not. Later, she would find out he was the one who sent out the ravens, informing every high lord and lady in Westeros he was Brienne’s bastard. Ser Dariss went mad when they arrived back on the island, apologizing profusely to Brienne: 

“My lady, I—I do not know who blabbed,” he said to her. “I swear I never told a soul.”

“ _You_ knew?” said Emrys, hurt in his voice. Ser Dariss had been Emrys’s closes confidant while he was Evenstar and it pained the boy deeply that the knight chose to keep such information from him. 

Emrys and his bear had both grown in the past six months. He grew, standing now at Brienne’s shoulders rather than her breasts. The maester suspected he would be as big as Duncan the Tall. He also cut off his beautiful golden locks shortly after their arrival home. He said he needed a new look to fit his new role as Brienne’s bastard. The short hair made him look less like a beautiful woman and more like a beautiful man. More like Jaime. But he still pranced around in pretty dresses from time to time.

She told Emrys about Jaime being his father and how he was still alive. To Brienne’s surprise, Emrys asked her not to tell Jaime he was his bastard. He told her he needed time to mourn his grandfather. Lord Selwyn was the only father figure he had known and in Emrys’s eyes, Jaime was merely a seed given to Brienne to create a new life. Emrys wasn't ready to accept Jaime into his life and Brienne wondered if he would ever be ready.

Topaz had grown into a beast only in looks. He looked as if he could murder everyone on the island—and if he were ever in a wild mood, he probably could—but he spent most of his days eating and sleeping. Whenever Brienne was with Emrys and the other children in the training yard, the bear would fall asleep in the corner, not bothered by the ruckus they were creating. And despite his size, he also slept in the same room as Emrys each night. Brienne attempted to keep him outside, but Emrys kept sneaking him in. Finally, she gave up and the bear now went anywhere Emrys went.

Topaz let out a yawn as they entered Evenfall Hall’s ball room. Brienne had to hide her distaste for the place from Emrys as they entered the building, a plethora of unwelcome memories coming back to her. She hated the ball room simply because she hated balls, and yet she found herself hosting one. Emrys hosted one every year on his name day. He was turning thirteen this year and Brienne could hardly believe it. He was nearly a man now. 

Upon seeing the Evenstar enter, the choir began to sing a soft melody. It was a song Brienne did not recognize, but Emrys seemed to be enjoying the music, for he tapped his foot in time with the instruments playing. She turned to the dance floor. Blinking, an image of her younger self with Renly haunted the dance floor. She hadn’t thought about Renly in years. Most nights it was Jaime she saw in her dreams. Sometimes he was making love to her and sometimes she was killing him. It really depended on how she felt about him that day. Last night she dreamed she killed him after he finished making love to her. She stabbed him in the back with Oathkeeper the moment he released himself inside of her. She awoke with her heart pounding in anger and an arousal between her thighs.

Emrys stood where the ghost of her and Renly dancing disappeared. “This is where I would have put my statue had you not cancelled my commission, mother,” he said. He cleared his throat. Emrys’s voice had gradually gotten deeper in the past months, and now it seemed his new voice and old voice were battling each other for dominance. His new voice was winning.

“It was an unnecessary purchase,” she said. “Especially now since you’re no longer the Evenstar.”

“Let’s commission a statue of the true Evenstar instead, then. I’d much rather show that off.”

She blushed. Emrys took her by the hands and adjusted her footing. “What’re you doing?”

“Dancing with my mother,” he said.

The choir sang louder as they moved together as one, her feet much clumsier than his own. He twirled her once and she nearly fell backwards. She regained her footing in time for him to spin her around again. While fighting, she was the one who had the upper hand—he was as clumsy in the training yard as she was in ball room—but in her son’s arms he was the one in complete control. He led her around the dance floor; his feet moved smoothly with the marble floor below them while her own feet tried not to trip over themselves. He twirled her again. Once. Twice. A third time. She felt dizzy and she nearly fell over, but he had a firm grip on her waist, controlling her balance. Topaz watched them move together as one around the dance floor with a bored expression on his face. His eyes quickly closed and he fell asleep.

A slight cough made her pull away from Emrys, embarrassed they now had an audience. The music stopped soon after. They turned to see Lord Tyrion standing near them, holding a book in his hands. “Pardon me for interrupting, Evenstar,” he said. “Ser Dariss told me I could find you two here.”

Brienne felt her face warm. “It’s quite all right, Lord Tyrion,” she said. “Forgive me for not welcoming you personally. I was told your ship wasn’t to arrive until later this afternoon.”

“We arrived earlier than expected, my lady,” he told her. He then turned his attention to Emrys. “I thank you for inviting me to your name day celebration, young—Emrys.”

“Of course!” said Emrys. “What kind of nephew would I be if I didn't invite my own uncle?”

Tyrion smiled. “I must confess, I do enjoy being called uncle again.” He handed Emrys the book. “It’s a new one. I’ve only just finished reading it myself.”

Emrys examined the cover. “‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’,” he read out loud. An image of an ugly beast and a beautiful woman dancing was on the front cover. Brienne wondered if that was what her and Emrys looked like while they were dancing. “Like the song?”

“Yes… It’s quite a read. A beautiful woman falls in love with a fowl beast.”

“Thank you, uncle,” he said. Emrys looked up from the book and looked around the ball room. "I thought Ser Bronn would be with you."

"No, unfortunately Ser Bronn will not be attending," said Tyrion. He turned to Brienne. "But, my lady, I think I should warn you—"

The ball room’s doors opened and were quickly slammed shut. A man with a silver lion’s mane trudged towards them, a nasty frown on his face.

“ _Hunfrid_ ,” Emrys greeted with a respectful nod.

His expression softened when his eyes found Emrys. “ _Jaime_ ,” he said.

“Jaime… why—what’re you doing here?” Her face went a deep shade of red as she turned to her son, who was smiling at her.

“I invited him,” Emrys said simply.

“You… did? But I thought—”

“Might I have a few words, Evenstar,” said Jaime. “Privately.”

 

Whatever Jaime needed to say to her, he sure was taking his time saying it. They stood outside, side by side, looking at everything but each other. Two birds landed before them—a large blue one and a small red one. They were fighting over a worm that one of them had dug up from the dirt. Finally, the big one overpowered the other and flew off with it, but the red bird still seemed determined to get his worm and flew off after the blue one.

“I don’t have all day,” Brienne said, her arms crossing. She tried not to sound too harsh, but she really did not have time to be deal with him. Emrys’s name day was tomorrow and there was still a lot to do. Sandor Clegane and his daughters were to arrive any moment, and she needed to be there to greet them. She promised Sansa she would take care of them while they were on Tarth. 

“Why didn’t you tell me he was our son?” he hissed. “I had to find out from Tyrion... after you’d already gone.”

“I wanted—I wanted to, but Emrys… He told me he wasn’t quite ready to have you in his life,” she lied. Emrys had told her he wanted nothing to do with Jaime. He begged Brienne to keep quiet. “And I honestly don’t blame him.”

He sighed. “I would have stayed.”

“What?”

“I would have stayed with you had you told me you were... with child.”

She scoffed. “I doubt that.” The birds landed in front of them again. The worm had split in half and each of them had a piece for their own to nibble on. She turned her attention to the ground. “I didn’t know then. I didn’t find out until… after. I had already been offered the position of lord commander…”

He laughed and Brienne felt her face warm. “I can’t believe you became Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” he said, disbelief in his words. “I thought you were sworn to the Stark girls?”

She turned to him and his smile quickly faded. “King Bran asked for me personally. He said I was the most honorable knight in the Seven— _six_ —Kingdoms.”

He rolled his eyes at the mentioning of the six kingdoms. “You were Lord Selwyn’s heir—”

“And you were dead,” she said. “You were dead, and I was pregnant with your bastard. What other choice did I have?”

His face softened and he reached for her, but she pulled away. “So, what happens now? Am I to be escorted off the island, back to the north?”

“My apologies for interrupting, Evenstar,” said Ser Dariss from behind them. They both turned to the man. He was short and balding. Originally from the riverlands, he became an orphan when his father and brothers died in the Battle of the Trident. He found his way to Tarth soon after and served as Ser Goodwin’s squire. “Winterfell’s ship is near. They’ll be docking soon.”

“Thank you, Ser Dariss,” she said. She then turned to Jaime. “You’re Emrys’s father. You have the right to attend his name day celebration. As long as he wants you here, you’re welcome.”

“Er—what about… us?”

“There is no us, Jaime,” she said. “Only Emrys.”

* * *

 

 

_A bear there was, a bear, a bear!_

_All black and brown, and covered with hair._

_The bear! The bear!_

_Oh come they said, oh come to the fair!_

_The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!_

_All black and brown, and covered with hair!_

_And down the road from here to there._

_From here! To there!_

_Three boys, a goat and a dancing bear!_

_They danced and spun, all the way to the fair!_

_The fair! The fair!_

The choir sang loudly as Brienne and Emrys watched their guests prance gleefully around the dance floor. They were both in their best attire, though Emrys felt more comfortable in his clothing than his mother did. She kept tugging at her gown; it was blue and complimented her eyes well, but she still felt more comfortable wearing male clothing than dresses. Emrys felt comfortable in anything, but he chose to wear a special red and gold Dornish outfit gifted to him after it was announced he was Jaime Lannister’s true born bastard. He personally preferred blue over red but the man who gifted the outfit to him was in attendance. Despite being a bastard, his beauty still brought him luxurious gifts.

“You know, you never did tell me the bear story,” said Emrys.

Brienne looked at him curiously. “What bear story?” Ermys only had to smile for Brienne to understand what he was saying. “I… I was in a bear pit. At Herrenhal. Your fa—Jaime jumped in and rescued me.”

He turned away. “I invited him here for you.”

 

_Oh, sweet she was, and pure and fair!_

_The maid with honey in her hair!_

_Her hair! Her hair!_

_The maid with honey in her hair!_

_The bear smelled the scent on the summer air._

_The bear! The bear!_

_All black and brown and covered with hair!_

_He smelled the scent on the summer air!_

_He sniffed and roared and smelled it there!_

_Honey on the summer air!_

 

“What?”

“I know how much you miss him,” he said. “You don’t like to admit it… but you miss having him in your life. I know you do. You call for him in your sleep sometimes. Even before we knew he was alive.” He turned to her again and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Talk to him. Fight him. Kill him, if you need to.”

She grabbed his hand on her cheek. “But… I thought—”

“I know what I said in the north,” said Emrys, “but this isn’t about me.”

She let a soft sigh escape from her mouth. “Emrys—”

 

_Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!_

_I'll never dance with a hairy bear!_

_A bear! A bear!_

_I'll never dance with a hairy bear!_

_The bear, the bear!_

_Lifted her high into the air!_

_The bear! The bear!_

_I called for a knight, but you're a bear!_

_A bear, a bear!_

_All black and brown and covered with hair_

_She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,_

_But he licked the honey from her hair._

_Her hair! Her hair!_

_He licked the honey from her hair!_

 

A group of women laughing passed them by and Brienne tensed. Emrys could see they were laughing at a few foolish boys dancing together in the distance, but he knew his mother thought they were laughing at her.

 _You look beautiful_ , he wanted to tell her. She was the most beautiful person he knew. He leaned in close to her and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. A soft smile crept on her face. “Topaz is sleeping in the training yard. Keep him company for me while I mingle with our guests.”

In the distance, Emrys saw Sandor Clegane dancing with his youngest daughter, Princess Cate. The little girl stood on top of his feet as he awkwardly glided around the dance floor. Emrys smiled as his eyes found Clegane’s other daughter, the beautiful Theresia, who was politely dancing with Jon Tarly. He felt a slight pain in his stomach at the sight of seeing them together, for Jon was made a true born Tarly by King Bran some years ago and was more likely to marry Theresia than Emrys, the Kingslayer’s bastard. He turned to his beautiful mother; his jealousy already forgotten.

“You don’t have to,” said his mother.

“I want to,” he told her. “I’ll come find you afterwards. We can talk then.”

She squeezed his hand and nodded her thanks.

 

_Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!_

_My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!_

_And off they went, from here to there,_

_The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair._

 

* * *

 

 Tyrion sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Sit down, brother. Enjoy yourself. Drink some wine.”

Jaime, his brother, kept a careful eye on the crowd below them. “I don’t drink. Not anymore.”

For thirteen years, he believed his brother was dead, along with their sister, Cersei. He asked Jaime if she had survived too; no, he said. Jaime refused to tell him how she died. Upon getting Emrys’s raven, he went north for answers. It was Sandor Clegane who confirmed Emrys’s raven, but Tyrion refused to believe it until he saw Jaime with his own eyes. They shared an awkward embrace and Tyrion spent the next six months among the Brothers of the North, trying not to get killed by wildlings or Others.

“You should be celebrating,” he said. He made to gulp down the rest of his wine, but instead he set it down and stood. “It’s your son’s thirteenth name day.”

“She should have told me.”

 _And you should have told us you were alive_ , thought Tyrion. It was Tyrion who told him about Emrys. For some unknown reason, Emrys had told Jaime he was Tyrion’s bastard son. And Brienne kept quiet too.

“Where is the wench, anyway?” he said, searching the crowd. “She’s been purposely avoiding me all day.”

Tyrion spotted Emrys in the distance, talking with Queen Sansa’s young daughters and Samwell Tarly’s boy. Usually Brienne was right next to him, but she was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was right; Brienne was avoiding him.

Jaime stopped looking for her when Sandor Clegane walked up to them. He nodded towards them and then preceded to gulp down Tyrion’s wine.

“By all means, Clegane, help yourself,” said Jaime.

“Your bastard’s courting my daughter,” he said. “All the wine on fucking Tarth belongs to me now.” Sandor took Tyrion's seat and filled the glass full again. His eyes found Tyrion. “I heard you’re no longer the Hand.”

“With Emrys now the illegitimate son of my supposedly dead Kingslayer brother”—he gestured toward Jaime, who rolled his eyes—“it is my duty to raise him as my heir, if the king is willing to legitimize him again. I intend for Casterly Rock to be ruled by Lannisters long after I’m gone.”

Jaime sighed and tugged at his tunic, uncomfortable. His miraculous recovery from death had yet to be known by most people in the world, so he wore borrowed northern attire instead of red and gold. But he looked more wildling than man these days; more lion than man perhaps was the better choice of words. “I need some air,” he said, and left quickly.

In truth, Tyrion resigned as Hand because he no longer agreed with his king’s ways. He thought he was making the right decision when he elected Bran as king thirteen years ago, but now—he doesn’t know anymore… Gendry would have been an awful ruler, despite being King Robert’s ‘legitimate’ son; he was born a bastard and knew nothing about politics. And Jon refused the throne. Sansa, she had the north… and Brienne was a warrior, not a politician. In such short notice, he was the best choice. But Bran lied, and possibly more, to get the throne. He needed Tyrion to elect him as king, so he made him believe he had seen his siblings’ bodies in the rubble. He needed Arya to leave, for whatever reason, so he made her believe she saw Sandor Clegane's burnt body. Tyrion wondered if Daenerys Targaryen even went mad or if it was just Bran playing the game of thrones.

Emrys had no desire to be legitimized and Tyrion had no desire to ask Bran to legitimize him, but he wasn’t ready to tell people the true reason why he left. He wasn’t ready to let people know their king might be corrupt.

“I’ve been spending the past six months in the north, among the wildlings,” continued Tyrion.

“Aye, I’m aware,” said Sandor. “I’m the one who brought you there.”

“Yes, then you’re aware that…” He looked around, making sure no one was listening in, and lowered his voice. “There is still an issue with… _White Walkers_.” Again, he turned to make sure they were alone.

“The Brothers of the North have the Others under control,” said Sandor simply.

“A boy was stabbed, Clegane.” _My boy, my nephew was hurt_ , he wanted to say.

“Because the boy refused to follow orders,” said Sandor. “Getting stabbed was his own damn fault. He shouldn’t have gone near it. He should have stayed on his horse like he was told to.”

“Does Sansa know?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

“And she’s not planning to do anything about it?”

“The world doesn’t need to know.”

Tyrion wondered if this was also Bran’s doing. Did he make the world think they defeated the monsters just to get to the throne? Was the Night King even real or was he another vision created by Bran?

“They’re not in any danger,” assured Sandor.

“ _Yet_ ,” said Tyrion.

Sandor opened his mouth to speak but his eyes drifted to the crowd below them. “Oh, for fuck’s sake… He’s dancing with her now.”

Tyrion turned to see his nephew with Theresia Clegane. He twirled her in his arms, and they began moving together with the music.

* * *

 

Topaz was sleeping soundly against the wall. He wasn't bothered by the grunts and shouts Brienne was making while hitting the practice dummy with Oathkeeper. Music from the ballroom echoed in the night and her movements were keeping in time with the instruments playing. Uncomfortable with her gown, she went to her chambers and changed into something more compfortable before going to the training yard. The practice dummy was rusted and dented, made of dense material to accommodate her Valyrian sword. Emrys’s own worn out dummy, made of cloth and straw, hung beside it. He was good, and getting better every day, but she wondered if he only liked training because she was now the one training him. With Ser Yorath, Emrys spent most of his time watching the other children while he read or drew by the wall.

“Not so hard,” said a voice behind her, “you’ll rip it apart.”

She turned to see Jaime. Topaz lifted his head when he spoke but quickly let it fall to the ground again when he realized there was no threat.

“Why aren’t you at the celebration?” she asked.

He pulled out his own sword. Widow’s Wail… in Jaime’s possession once again. The sword that knighted her. He pointed the sword in her direction. “I should ask you the same question,” he said. "Aren't you the host?"

She went bright red. “I’m not one for dances.”

He smirked. “Me neither.”

 _And yet we made someone who loves them_ , she thought.

He examined Widow’s Wail in his hand and then took a few swings, aiming at nothing but the air.

“What are you doing?” said Brienne.

“I’m a little rusty,” he said. “I’m not used to Valyrian steel anymore. I’ve been using dragonglass for the past thirteen years.”

“You can use the training yard tomorrow,” she said. “I’m using it now.”

Jaime stepped closer. “I haven’t had a proper duel in years. Most wildlings fight to kill.”

“I’m not dueling you, Jaime,” she said, though her stance said otherwise.

“Come now, _wench_ … It’s been a while since we’ve danced.”

“My name is Brienne,” she corrected. “Put the sword down, _Kingslayer_.”

He smiled, and their swords kissed. He was strong, but she was stronger. The force of her Oathkeeper nearly had him falling backwards, but he quickly regained his footing. He was right, she noted. He was rusty. He came at her again quickly. She blocked it and spun away towards Topaz. The bear let out a slight yawn, which Jaime had mistaken for a growl. While he was distracted, Brienne went for his right arm—his weakest point. Their swords clashed again, creating a slight spark. It felt right, having Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail together again, the twins from Ice.

Jaime let out a joyous laugh. “I haven’t felt this alive in years, Brienne.”

She agreed. It had been ages since she had a proper fight. She spent most of her time as lord commander teaching young squires or newly appointed Kingsguards. She only had to fight for her king a few times in battle. And when she became Evenstar, she taught the other children whenever she had time to. 

They moved as one around the training yard, dancing with the music from the ballroom. Their swords clashed again. Once. Twice. A third time. Jaime was losing his balance and she was in control. She twirled again and trapped him in a corner. Topaz was behind him, sleeping soundly. She kicked him in the stomach, and he landed with a grunt atop the bear. Topaz lifted his head up to look at his unexpected guest. For a moment, Jaime looked frightened the bear might attack him, but Topaz only let out another yawn and plopped his head back down onto the ground.  

She pointed Oathkeeper at him, a satisfied smile creeping up on her lips. “ _Yield_ ,” she demanded.

“Never,” he said, rolling off Topaz and onto the ground. Brienne was on top of him before he could lift his blade. She removed the sword from his grasp and slid it across the yard.

_“I said yield!”_

He smiled. “You’re just going to have to kill me, Brienne. I’ll never yield.”

She felt something below her stir and she quickly lifted herself up, ignoring her own arousal between her thighs. He sat up and watched as she walked to the dummies. Again, she began hitting the metal one with her sword. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I left you crying. I’m sorry I shamed you with my bastard. I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you.”

Brienne stopped her movements and turned to him. “Emrys is _not_ my shame.”

“Of course not,” he said. “Wrong choice of words, my lady. I’m sorry.” He stood and patted Topaz a few times. The bear let out a satisfied grunt. “Tyrion and I will be gone before the morning,” he assured her.

Jaime grabbed his sword and made to put it back into its scabbard.

“Jaime—wait,” she said. He looked up and Brienne let out a defeated sigh. She used her sword to point at him. That couldn’t be it. She hated him. She loved him. She needed him to stay this time. “Draw your weapon, Ser. We’re not finished here.” She would give him an earful tomorrow, but tonight she was determined to dance a familiar melody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.  
> I have ideas for a sequel, bc I know I kinda left things hanging, but I’m not sure people would be interested.


End file.
